


Mirror Image

by WahlBuilder



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are alike and yet, so different, but both are willing to fight for what they love.<br/></p><hr/><p>A small piece set in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers to the Architect's and Corypheus's origins and Corypheus's true name.

The golden piece is as fine as Callistus has designed it. Sethius picks it carefully out of its case and carries it to Callistus who is holding up his great mane of golden hair while Sethius closes hidden clasps of the piece. It sits perfectly over Callistus's ribcage, showing that his structure, his very bones are as beautiful as his skin or his eyes or his hair.

Sethius looks in the mirror over Callistus's shoulder and, before Callistus lets his hair free, he presses a kiss to the golden skin of his neck.

Callistus is not vain, unlike the previous High Priest of Urthemiel. He is just beautiful, and his beauty is not that of a cold marble statue nor it is the beauty of a courtesan, teasing and provoking imagination. Callistus is pure—and purity makes many want to spoil it, to make it unclean.

'Allow me to design the mask,' Sethius asks, resting his hands on the cut of Callistus's hips. 'I cannot promise that it would be as fine a piece as it would be if you designed it, but I want... I need to make it. If you are to wear it, I want it to be of my design.'

Callistus's hands land on his. 'You are jealous.'

His voice is not as deep as Sethius's own, but it is smooth and melodic. True to his calling, Sethius doesn't speak much, and his voice gains the deep rasp like a tool used too seldom. Callistus's voice is as smooth as fine steel, and his words are just as sharp.

He is able to bring people to their knees just by using his voice.

Sethius's fingers circle his wrists, naked for now, the bracers resting on the table by the mirror. Callistus's wrists are pure, unmarred by ugly scars that cover Sethius's skin. Callistus serves his God by singing and writing and dancing, in his drawings and buildings and white towers and pyramids with fires atop them. He doesn't need to slit his wrists to feel that he belongs.

Sethius bleeds, writhing in silent agony. Before Callistus, he knew of no other way to fill the emptiness of his mind, his soul. He knew of no other way to make his mind _stop_.

He inhales the sweet scent of oils permeating Callistus's soft hair.

'I am yours,' Callistus says. 'Everyone knows it. I am yours in the eyes of our Gods and people, and you needn't worry so, my love.'

He buries his face in Callistus's hair, tightening his grip on his wrists. 'Mine. For all eternity.'

They can take away his power, his magic, his children, but he will never let anyone take Callistus. Never.


End file.
